Possession
by Zukofan23
Summary: Spring was definitely on the way for Beacon Hills. In this town, however, each new season brought on some sort of bizarre and exotic danger. And Stiles Stilinski was no stranger towards danger. Sterek, touch of Scisaac. Angst AND fluff.
1. Remembrance

It was an early morning in mid-March. The once bare trees began to take on their greener, livelier hues as small new leaves began to form. Small, hibernating mammals emerged from their dens to relish in the newfound sunlight. Dogs began to shed their longer winter coats in preparation for the coming heat. Even the students seemed thankful for the end of the cold season. They couldn't wait to trade their gloves and coats for flip-flops and tank tops.

Yes, spring was definitely on the way for Beacon Hills. In this town, however, each new season brought on some sort of bizarre and exotic danger.

And Stiles Stilinski was no stranger towards danger.

Unlike most of the students in his class, he was not enjoying the beautiful day from the confines of the school. Instead he sat in an open field a few miles outside the city limits. It was a secret place, a place he held sacred and considered holy. Very few people outside of his small family knew about it. It was _her _favorite place. A smile etched itself onto Stiles' face as he thought back to when he was a small boy, barely as high as her knee.

The meadow was so full of life and color back then. Wildflowers bloomed as far as the eye could see. Boisterous ribbits and splashing could be heard from a nearby pond that was shielded from view by trees. He remembered how he would giggle every time his mother would point out a blue jay or a red cardinal. He remembered how her face would light up with life and laughter when one took a seat upon her uniformed husband's shoulder. But most of all, he remembered _her_. He remembered her perfect golden hair, the smell of her lavender perfume, the warmth that came with her hugs. He remembered the gentle and warm tone her voice took when she whispered in his ear: "I love you so much, Stiles."

"I love you too," Stiles whispered as he shook himself from the past. The only sound that greeted him as he walked to the edge of the meadow was the wind. Still, it seemed to be a warm, gentle breeze. It seemed to urge him forward to what awaited him at the bottom of the grassy hill. "Sorry, Mom… I know it's been a while… but I have tons to tell you," he took a seat in front of an old headstone that read, 'Mary Stilinski.'

All around him, the meadow where he and his parents spent every Sunday afternoon had succumbed to the harsh winter. The grass was no longer a vibrant green, but now took on a muggy brown. The once colorful trees had deadened and now the branches were naked, stripped of all life. The pond had long since dried up and was now nothing more than a dirty hole. Time had indeed taken its toll on the meadow. But not where she was. Stiles was always sure to keep her eternal resting place beautiful, colorful as it once was. He gave a sad smile as he placed a ring of pink flowers around the headstone. Pink was her favorite color. "Well, first thing's first," he said as he meticulously positioned the petals so they formed a perfect circle. "Scott's a werewolf. I know, weird right?" he chuckled to himself before carrying on about werewolves and kanimas and druids.

The seconds lapsed into minutes, the minutes into hours. Stiles didn't seem to be bothered by the time that passed. He didn't care that his legs were going numb from being crossed for so long, he didn't care that his stomach rumbled and demanded food, he didn't care about the tears that occasionally rolled down his face. He learned a long time ago it was better to let it out than hold it in. With a sigh, he looked up at the sky only to find the sun setting as the moon began to ascend. Taking in a sharp inhale of breath, he looked to the headstone. "I guess I gotta go," he said. "Dad'll be wondering where I am… you know how he worries," he said with a sad chuckle. "I'll see you later," he said with finality as he stood up on unsteady legs.

Taking one step, an audible crack was heard from both of his legs as they tried to shake off the stiffness from sitting for so long. With a stretch of his arms, several cracks were heard from his back as well. Suddenly, a rustling sound came from beyond the trees. "Hello?" Stiles called, freezing as soon as the sound entered his ears. He peered into the darkness, unable to see anything past the opening between the trees. "Scott?" he asked, listening for any sound. When none came, he shrugged and walked on.

Stiles' blue jeep was parked just off of the highway out of the city. He would have parked it in the woods if there weren't trees all around. So he always pulled over, parked, and hoped like Hell no one would file it as an abandoned car. That would be the last thing he needed. But all these years of parking here, he hasn't had a single problem of the sort. Whistling to himself, he made his way from his mother's meadow to his jeep, his fists jammed in the pockets of his blue jeans. When he finally made it to his jeep, who should he find sitting atop its hood but his best friend Scott McCall?

"Dude," Stiles called, trying to blink away the evidence of his day's activity. "What the Hell are you doing?"

He ran a hand through his messy mop of black hair thoughtfully. "I thought this was where you might be," Scott said softly, not in his ordinarily jocular tone. Scott was always there for Stiles when he needed him, and he was always grateful for it… even if he would never admit it out loud.

"Is your roommate with you?" Stiles asked, hoisting himself up on the hood next to his best friend.

"Nah, Isaac got stuck with grocery shopping," Scott answered. Isaac Lahey was the newest tenant of the McCall household after Derek Hale kicked him out. Despite being kicked out of his _house_, Isaac was still loyal to Derek's pack… although not as loyal to Derek as he was to Scott. "How are you doing?" he asked. Scott never had to ask. He had this innate sense that told him Stiles was thinking about his mom. It wasn't a werewolf sense, really. It was more of just a Scott sense.

"Not as great as I'd like to say," he admitted softly, looking up at the darkening sky. "But better," he added.

For a while, the duo sat in a comforting silence. Scott never had to do or say anything, just sit there so Stiles wouldn't feel alone. The weeks that followed his mother's death all seemed like a blur. The only thing he could remember, the only people he remembered, were his dad and Scott. Scott would stay the night a lot during those weeks. And a lot of times, they just sat in silence. His dad tried to cheer him up by taking them out for pizza, or going to the zoo. The only thing that seemed to help him was the consistency of Scott's presence in the house. And Scott was grateful to be out of his own house, away from his controlling father.

"It's getting late," Scott interrupted the silence. Stiles cocked his head to the side to gaze at his companion before returning his eyes to the sky, now full with stars. This was always the best place to see stars. "Want me to drive you home?" he asked.

"No," his voice was scratchy, as though he would break like a delicate diamond with the slightest nudge. He hated feeling this vulnerable. But if he had to, he was glad it was around Scott.

"Too bad," Scott grinned as he jumped off the hood. "I never get to drive your jeep," he snatched the keys from Stiles' pocket with a playful, innocent smile. Unable to argue with him, Stiles simply walked to the passenger's seat, slamming the door harshly.

"You know, you can be a real dick sometimes," Stiles offered Scott a soft smile.

"That's better," Scott chuckled as he adjusted the mirror. "What the-" he froze for a moment before whirling around.

"What is it? Are your werewolf senses tingling?" Stiles asked, mirroring Scott's movements, only to find himself peering into the darkness.

"No," Scott said, his voice chillingly haunted. "I thought I saw something," he slowly turned back around, cautiously looking into the mirror. With a sigh, he started the jeep and started down the road.

"Was little Timmy stuck in a well?" Stiles joked, trying to laugh off the effects of the day.

"You're hilarious," Scott smiled as they made their way down the road.

"So what'd I miss today?" Stiles asked as they drove into town.

"Well, pop quiz on the Scarlet Letter… pop quiz in Algebra… soda pop at lunch," Scott said thoughtfully.

"Pop, pop, pop," Stiles repeated, entertained momentarily by the word. "I'm gonna pop some tags," Stiles began singing.

"Only got twenty dollars in my pocket," Scott picked up the chorus line.

"_I-I-I'm huntin',_

_Lookin' for a come-up,_

_This is fucking awesome!"_ they sang in perfect unison.

The duo laughed before Scott pulled into Stiles' driveway. They got out of the jeep, meeting at the middle of the hood. All joking aside, Scott looked at Stiles through a pair of innocent, puppy like brown eyes. "You gonna be okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles said mindlessly. "A shot of whiskey and some sleep oughta perk me right up," he joked.

"Stiles, you know what I mean," Scott said.

With a sigh, Stiles bit the inside of his cheek before looking back up at his best friend. "I should be fine in the morning," he said thoughtfully. "You know me, be sad for a day and over it the next!" he forced a grin. "That's how I roll."

"Alright," Scott finally believed him, giving him a brotherly smile. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said before taking off towards his house. With a final look in the direction Scott took off into, Stiles turned and trudged into his house. He wasn't surprised to find it empty. His father was the Sheriff and that was the price they had to pay.

After downing two NyQuil pills and nearly an entire carton of milk, Stiles began to feel his eyelids begin to grow heavy. He barely made it to his bed before sleep finally took over his tired body and dreams took hold of his exhausted mind.

_"Stiles," her voice was all around. He contorted his head in every which direction, searching for her. Upon looking around, he recognized that he was in the meadow that she loved so much. And it wasn't dead, it was full of life and exuberance as it once was. He looked at himself, to find he was once again a small boy, picnicking with his mother once again._

_ "Mom!" he called, looking around. "Mom, where are you?" he asked._

_ "I'm here," she answered, her voice as warm as honey. "Come find me!" she said from her hiding place. "Stiles, come find me!" her voice wasn't resonating all over anymore. Now he was able to tell which direction she was calling from. With a childish grin, he ran towards her voice. He couldn't wait to see her again, to listen to her stories or sit in her lap. But his legs froze as he came to the edge of the trees. "What's wrong, honey?" she asked from beyond the imaginary barrier._

_ "Mom, you always said not to go in there," he answered._

_ "That was then, Stiles," she reasoned. "Come now. Come to me," she called, her voice no longer like honey. Instead, it was now gravelly and not that of his mother. But still, it called to him. Luring him into the darkness. "Stiles." It took on a manlier tone. "Stiles. Stiles! Stiles!" Stiles knew he had to turn back. But he wanted a closer look. He wanted to see who was calling him. Curiously, he followed the voice a few more paces before freezing in fear. He found himself staring into nothing but a pair of blood red eyes._

"STILES! Wake up!" Sheriff Stilinski stood in the doorway, calling to his slumbering son. It was unusual for his father to have to wake him up. Stiles wasn't the most responsible kid in the world, but at least he would wake up when his alarm clock rang. But he hadn't even turned off the annoying ringing this morning. "Jesus Christ, Stiles," he said when his son looked up at him from his bed. "You gonna turn that damn thing off?" he asked, pointing to the ringing clock off. After quickly turning it off, he turned back to his father. "You could've told me you were gonna skip yesterday," he said. "You know I don't mind when it comes to…" his voice trailed off.

"I got it Dad," he said. "I'll tell you next time," he promised.

"Hurry up and get dressed. You're gonna be late," he said before departing.

"Nice try, Dad!" Stiles rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head. "It's _Saturday!_"

A chuckle escaped the Sheriff from down the hall.


	2. Sunflower

Saturdays were usually filled with lacrosse practice from noon to sundown. But this was the off season and Coach Finstock wasn't as strict during track season. Not to say he wasn't strict, he just wasn't as 'If you're not at practice, I'll cut off your balls and feed them to the wolves.' It was more of, 'If you're not at practice, you better have a damn good excuse,' strict. Nevertheless, Stiles decided to skip practice today. Ordinarily, he was very punctual with everything, but he just wasn't feeling it today. More often than not, he was benched during everything from track to lacrosse.

Stiles was in no hurry as he walked downstairs, clothed in a pair of old blue jeans and an unbuttoned plaid shirt, exposing a lightweight gray t-shirt beneath. With a yawn, he made his way to the toaster, placing two peanut butter pop tarts into it before heading to the refrigerator. Licking his lips, he withdrew the milk carton, shaking it ever so lightly as he peered at the limited amount. Shrugging, he decided it would be better to drink the rest of it from the jug instead of dirtying another cup for him to wash later. "Hey," Sheriff Stilinski called as he walked into the kitchen. "What if I wanted some of that?" he began to pour some coffee from the pot.

With a smirk, Stiles asked, "What if _I _wanted some of _that_?"

"_You _medicallycan't have coffee," he answered with a smug look.

"Well… that's why you can't have my milk," he countered with a nod of finality. As if on cue, the pop tarts flew out of the toaster and Stiles caught them before placing them on a paper towel. He took a seat in front of his father at the breakfast table. Shoving a huge piece of the pop tart in his mouth, he watched his dad thumb through the newspaper. "So… anything new happening at work?" he asked, looking at the back page of the newspaper.

"Nothing I can tell you about," he said.

Stiles rolled his eyes as he read the headline facing him. "_Beacon Hill Adolescent Commits Suicide in Basement." _

"How'd you know about that?" the Sheriff eyed his son from over the paper. Silently, Stiles pointed to the back page. Upon seeing the headline for himself, he uttered, "God damn it."

"What?" Stiles asked. "No way… That's the case you're working on!? Why do you need to work on it if it's a suicide?"

"We don't _know _it was suicide," he reasoned.

"Who was it?" Stiles asked, earning a stern glare from his father. "Aww, come on Dad!" he begged. "You can tell me!"

"The second I do, you'll start working the case too."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Stiles, no."

"But Dad, I can help!"

"I'm sorry I can't let you help. Not on this one," he said. Stiles leaned back in his chair, clearly not happy about being defeated. "I gotta go to work. Now I don't want to hear anything else about this when I get home. Are we clear?" he asked. Stiles crossed his arms, looking down stubbornly. "I thought not," he got up, clasping his son on the shoulder. "I'll see you later," he said before departing.

The second the door closed, Stiles fumbled around in his pocket, trying to grab onto his phone. The moment his phone was within his grasp, it began vibrating. Stiles' face lit up as he saw who it was. "Scott! Dude, that was so weird, I was just about to call you! What's up?"

"Stiles," his voice was hollow, chilling. "You better get down here. Fast."

"Uh, sure man. I'm on my way. Where are you?"

"I'm at Derek's old house. Hurry," he said before hanging up. Stiles stared at his phone for a moment before ramming it back into his pants pocket and making a mad dash for his car. He hopped in, slamming the door harshly. It was slammed so hard something fell from behind the rearview mirror, landing gracefully on the dashboard. Ordinarily, Stiles wouldn't have thought twice about it, but this time it caught his eye. It was so bright, the color of the sun. He peered at it intensely, the brownness of its center mirroring his gaze. He picked it up gingerly, holding it up to inspect it.

It was a sunflower. He couldn't help but be reminded of his mother, remembering how she always said sunflowers made everything better. He remembered bringing them to her hospital room every day, how she smiled and said he reminded her of a sunflower. He remembered how he had brought fresh sunflowers to her room the day she…

Stiles blinked himself out of his trance, throwing the flower into the passenger seat and starting the car. Something inside him felt betrayed, but he pressed onward in spite of it. Scott needed him, and that was all that mattered now. He drove on, wishing like Hell that his radio worked so he wouldn't have to drive in silence.

The drive itself, however, was relatively short. Within moments, he was pulling up to the burned remains of the Hale house. Hopping out, he half walked, half ran to where Scott stood rigidly, peering intently at something Stiles could not see. "What's up?" Stiles asked, a smile on his face as he approached his best friend. Scott only offered a glance in his direction before returning his eyes to what they were fixated on earlier. Stiles eagerly followed his look before they landed on a woman's lifeless body.

She was an attractive woman, in her mid-twenties. A beautiful mop of red hair was still styled perfectly, her bangs brushing over her lifeless blue eyes. She was positioned as though she were just going to sleep under the stars, her arms behind her head. The bottom of her forearm was exposed enough to show deep, meticulous slits in some sort of design. "Whoa," Stiles uttered, awestruck. Scott said nothing, only offered a nod in his direction. "Know who she is?" he asked, looking over at Scott.

"No," Scott shook his head.

"Maybe she's got some sort of ID on her," Stiles said, taking a step towards the body.

"Don't get any closer," a firm voice called from within the recesses of the abandoned house. Stiles stopped in his tracks, looking around wildly for the owner of the voice. Out of the ashes, came Derek Hale. Stiles watched as he jumped over what remained of the patio and walk towards them. Since the warmer weather had taken hold of Beacon Hills, Derek traded his leather jacket for an old, gray wife beater. The tightness of his shirt exposed the outlines of his perfectly toned muscles, flexing with every step he took. "Get back," Derek ordered, roughly grabbing Stiles' shirt and shoving him into Scott.

After recomposing themselves, the two watched as Derek walked towards the body. He nonchalantly pulled her arm out from behind her head, closely inspecting the marking. Stiles couldn't help but flinch as an unnerving popping sound came from the body. "Do you know her, Derek?" Scott asked.

With a sigh, Derek placed her hand on top of her stomach before walking towards them. "Yes," he finally answered, a hint of sorrow in his voice. "Her name was Tessa Carver. She was Laura's best friend. She practically lived at our house," he offered another look to her before walking on. Stiles and Scott offered each other a look, glanced back at the body, before following after Derek. "She never was quite the same afterwards," he explained. "Hope you're up for another mystery," Derek looked at the pair.

"What do you mean?" Scott asked.

"It just looks like she killed herself," Stiles said. "What mystery is there?"

"Tessa was right handed," Derek said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. When the two didn't make the connection, Derek groaned and continued, "The wound was _on _her right arm. Unless she was ambidextrous, there's no way she could have made such a detailed design on her dominant arm with the other one," he crossed his arms. Stiles opened his mouth to object before Derek said, "She wasn't ambidextrous."

"So, you're thinking it was a murder?" Scott asked.

"Seems like the only logical thing," Derek said. "And did you see that design? It was a double spiral."

"And what's a _double _spiral mean?" Stiles asked, growing increasingly irritated with all these ancient symbols.

"It can mean… almost anything," Derek said. "Friends and foes, heaven and hell, good and evil," he began.

"So it's Yin and Yang?" Stiles asked.

"_No_, it's a double spiral," he growled.

"Hey, hey," Scott cut off the arguing. "If it's anything like what's happened before, there should be more victims, right? There's always a pattern. And so far, this is the only one. Maybe… maybe it's just a suicide."

"No," Derek shook his head. "I know Tessa. She had a pretty rough life, but she wouldn't have killed herself."

"Wait," Stiles said, remembering his morning conversation with his father. "Maybe there _is _another victim," he said. "I was talking to my dad this morning about the case he's working… well, sort of talking… and they're looking into a suicide too. I asked him why, and he said he wasn't so sure it _was _a suicide."

"There's your pattern," Derek said, giving Scott a smug look. "Who was it?" he asked.

"I uh… Heheh, funny story about that," Stiles said, rubbing the back of his head.

Derek gave him an icy glare. "Really? The one time I'm depending on your ability to get into your father's business, you don't know anything? Really?" the irritation was more than evident.

"I'm not sure I like your tone," Stiles said, trying to sound threatening as he stepped closer to Derek.

"Guys," Scott said warningly. Stiles offered him a glare, only to have the look returned a thousand fold from the Alpha. "Stiles!" Scott snapped, making Stiles back down from their stare off. "We need to figure out who this person is," he said. "Now are we going to work together, or fight the whole time?" he asked, wishing they would stop acting like such children. With a sigh, Stiles silently succumbed to Scott's wishes. "Alright. They're probably keeping the body in the morgue. Any ideas as to how we sneak in?"

"I say you sneak past them with your werewolf ninja skills while I sweet talk the nurses as a distraction," Stiles suggested with a grin.

"You?" Derek asked. "Sweet talk?" Derek had to stop himself from laughing.

"What? Would _you _rather flirt with them? I can think of a couple reasons why that would be a _horrible _idea! You don't have a great track record with women."

"Whereas you have… _no _track record with women," Derek crossed his arms superiorly.

Scott groaned, uttering something about going to the jeep until they finished their fight.

"Remember what happened last time you tried to flirt with a girl during one of our plans? What happened again? Oh yeah, we both ended up _paralyzed_! So forgive me if I don't trust your women skills!" Stiles retaliated.

"Which wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been an idiot."

"Why don't we just have Scott decide. Scott?" Stiles turned around, expecting to see his best friend. "Riiiiight…"

"You better not screw this up," Derek said threateningly, shouldering past Stiles roughly.

"Would I do that?" Stiles rolled his eyes, following the Alpha. They made their way to the jeep in angered silence. Scott was already waiting in the passenger seat.

"Did you two finish your little fight?" Scott asked tauntingly. Derek and Stiles rolled their eyes before taking their respective seats. Starting the car, Scott elbowed Stiles gently, holding the sunflower.

"That's uh…" Stiles tried to think of a good explanation, but none came. Scott offered a soft, comforting smile. He knew exactly what sunflowers meant for Stiles. With one swift motion, he gently tucked it into the dashboard, away from Derek's view. Stiles gave Scott an appreciative smile before driving towards the morgue.

**Author's Note: Sorry for not updating last week. I'm going to try to update every Tuesday, while everyone is still feelsing over Teen Wolf. I hope you like it so far! **


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